Feedback. Constant Feedback.

 Feedback. Constant Feedback.

As human existence progresses, are we reaching the point where we no longer have the ability to function without feedback?

I can remember a time in my life when I was told that if I had self-esteem, it really didn’t matter what other people thought of me—or my performance. Apparently, those days are gone.

Now, if I buy hemorrhoid cream at Walmart, I’m expected to provide feedback on the transaction.

Was I happy with my purchase?

Was I happy with the price?

Was I happy with the service?

I’m usually quite happy with the service at Walmart, by the way. After all, I find the merchandise, select it, scan it, bag it, and sometimes even have to hunt down an employee when the machine decides I’m trying to steal something.

I give myself five stars.

So why do I keep getting emails and text messages reminding me that I need to provide feedback on my experience?

Then there are the doctor visits.

As a not-so-healthy senior citizen, I visit various doctors fairly often. Sometimes I actually get a one-on-one with the doctor. Other times I just run into the office for a quick blood draw—in and out in about fifteen minutes.

I do the latter quite often, and still, before I’ve even gotten home, the texts and emails begin.

Tell us about your visit.

I have a hard time resisting sarcasm when I provide feedback on those particular visits. I’m tempted to leave comments that read something like this:

Got to the clinic. Signed in. Waited until called. Went back to the lab and had blood sucked from my arm. Went home.

End of story.

It’s not just Walmart or the doctor’s office. It seems to be almost every place where we shop or receive some sort of service.

Got new tires at Pep Boys?

Provide feedback.

Did the technician smile?

Does that really matter?

Did they put four round tires on my truck?

Yes. It appears so.

Was I happy with the price?

No. Not really.

Then I order a shirt from Amazon and watch the delivery driver drop-kick the package onto my top step, leaving it in clear view of any passing porch pirate.

Five minutes later, the text arrives.

Your package has been delivered. Provide feedback.

Did your package arrive on time?

I guess so.

How was your service?

Uh…okay, I guess.

I’m just glad there wasn’t any glassware in the package.

And then there is Facebook and Instagram.

This is where things get a little uncomfortable because suddenly I’m like a young boy seeking the approval of his father.

I try to be clever. I write a short essay. I dig through old photographs until I find just the right one to accompany it. Heck, I might even use AI to fabricate the most fascinating image imaginable.

Then I post it.

And wait.

Check the post.

Wait.

Check the post again.

Surely by now somebody has commented on just how intelligent, witty, insightful, or downright amazing I am.

Crickets.

Maybe my friends are busy.

I’ll wait a little longer.

Some posts get comments. Some don’t. And that’s really okay.

Although I do occasionally wonder why all my friends have forsaken me.

That’s a joke.

Honestly.

Still, it makes me wonder: When did the need to both give and receive feedback on every little mundane thing we do become so important?

Do human beings really require feedback just to make it through the day?

Will Walmart suffer if I neglect my civic duty to rate a transaction where I did most of the work myself?

Will my doctor stop seeing me if I fail to rate the performance of the nice young woman who stuck a needle in my arm?

And if nobody clicks the little thumbs-up button on something I wrote, does that mean nobody liked it?

Or does it simply mean they read it, smiled, and went on with their day?

There was a time when that was enough.

At least, I think that was the point I was trying to make when I started writing this.

But let’s face it. I’m old. The mind wanders. One minute I’m complaining about Walmart wanting me to review a tube of hemorrhoid cream, and the next thing I know I’m contemplating the emotional needs of modern civilization.

I’ve already forgotten where I was going with this.

Perhaps some feedback would help.

Tips and feedback.

Two things I really think we could do with a lot less of.

If I’m lucky, maybe a grammarian will provide some feedback on this essay and remind me that I should never end a sentence with a preposition.

Which, of course, is exactly the sort of thing I could do without.